


Discord

by MissScorp



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Batman and Nightwing show up to stop Joker, Drama, F/M, FBI Malcolm makes an appearance, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Malcolm Bright Whump, Malcolm gets drunk, speed writing, there’s piranha, yes the Joker made a small cameo because why not?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:34:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 45
Words: 9,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23367796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissScorp/pseuds/MissScorp
Summary: A collection of flash pieces written live on the Prodigal Son Discord server after the promptmaster give us prompts. Hilarious fun. Great challenge. All sorts of whump.
Comments: 79
Kudos: 36
Collections: Flash Fics - PSON Whump Discord





	1. Quirks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jameena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jameena/gifts).



Bright had his quirks.

More than a few, in fact.

However, he was still one of them. He’d earned his spot far as JT was concerned. That’s why when Swanson ran him down he looked the agent dead in the eye and growled at her, “Get off your Bright hate.”

“Excuse me?” Ire flashed across Swanson’s face. “What did you say to me, Detective Tarmel?”

“I said get off your Bright hate.”

“I’ll—”

“What? Send me home?” He grunted. “Don’t answer to you.”

“I can have you removed from the case.”

“Go ahead,” he told her. “Still gonna work it.”

“Why?”

“Cause Bright might be a dumbass, but he’s _our_ dumbass.”

And for JT it was as simple as that.


	2. Volatile

The situation turned volatile before they even arrived at the scene. A cop on the edge, threatening to shoot himself, and his family. It was one of the worst scenarios possible. Gil hoped he could reason with Saunders. He came up through the ranks with the man, worked a beat with him. Saunders had been there after Jackie died, holding him up, telling him it’d be alright, he’d get through it.

Why hadn’t he come to him?

Why hadn’t he called?

He’d have gotten him help had he simply reached out and asked for it.

“How we gonna play this, Boss?” JT asked as he moved up beside him. “Could go bad and fast.”

“I want you and Powell to hang back.” Gil looked down at Bright. “You, too.”

“Me?” Bright’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Why? I can...”

“Not this time, kid.” He clapped a hand to the back of his neck. “This isn’t for you to do.”

“But...”

“I’m going in.” He squeezed his neck. “I’m going to talk to Saunders.”

He just hoped like hell he could get him to climb back from that precipice.

Before it was too late. 


	3. Tape

If Bright didn’t have OCD it’d honestly shock her. The guy literally had to have everything in just the right way or it’d send him into a meltdown. Admittedly, watching him freak out about the wrong flavors of jello had been kinda cute. Hilarious even.

This, though?

This just went beyond anything she anticipated. 

“You’re seriously freaking out because they don’t have the right kind of tape?”

“You cannot wrap presents without the right tape. It will ruin the aesthetic if you use the wrong kind of tape.”

Whatever the hell that meant, she didn’t know. She just huffed and folded her arms across her chest.

“Bright, pick one so we can go.”

Of course, that didn’t happen. No, Bright made her take him to ten different stores before he finally found the exact roll of tape that he claimed he needed.

“You good, now?”

“Yes,” he cheerfully replied.

Dani just rolled her eyes as she headed for the car. 


	4. Footsteps

Sunshine twittered and trilled as she waited for her human to return. He left when the room was still dark and had yet to come back. Not that the little budgie worried. Her human always returned.

Sometimes a little worse for wear but always with a soft greeting for her.

She loved her human. He was good and kind and patient. However, there was a sadness about her human. As if he found no joy in the world. That’s why she did her best to cheer him up when he was home. She‘d sing to him, fly to him when he called her, and love him to the best of her ability. Most often it earned her a smile and a little treat.

Footsteps sounded. She fluttered up to her swing to wait, knowing it was her human long before he opened the door.

“Hello, Sunshine,” he called as he walked by her cage. “Hope you had a better day than I did.”

Given her human was covered in some red substance that didn’t smell all that pleasing?

Sunshine assumed she had a much better day than her human.

She chirped that to him as he disappeared into the fancy room where he groomed himself. 


	5. Agony

The bright bite of pain caught him completely by surprise. He groaned and grasped his head between his shaking hands, willing the pain to stop.   


Not that it did.

Nausea hit and he thought he’d disgrace himself by vomiting all over his desk. Sheer will kept it from happening.

“Bright?” He vaguely heard Gil through the dull roaring filling his ears. “Kid, what is it? What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing,” he managed around clenched teeth. “It’s nothing.”

“Sitting with your head between your hands isn’t normal. Even for you.”

“Just a headache.”

A gentle hand settled against the back of his neck. “Migraine?”

“Mhm.” 

“Come on, let’s get you somewhere dark and quiet.”

Agony shot through him soon as he stood. Malcolm let out a low moan and went to sink back to his knees but Gil placed a supportive arm around him and helped him into his office. Got him over to the couch.

“Need the trash can?”

“No...” A second later that changed to, “Yes.”

It appeared next to the couch right as Malcolm twisted and spewed out what few contents were in his stomach.

“Here.” A glass of water was pushed into his hands with some aspirin. “Take those while I dim the lights.”

Malcolm did as he was told.

For once. 


	6. Lost

Ainsley lost count of how many trips to the hospital this was. She stopped counting years ago. This time she couldn’t rightly read her brother the riot act. It wasn’t like he asked for a drunk driver to slam into the car.

“Miss Whitly?”

She turned as a man in a white lab coat walked up to her.

“How is my brother and Lieutenant Arroyo?”

“Lieutenant Arroyo is in stable condition. We’ve moved him to a private room.”

“And my brother?”

The doctor hesitated. Clearly unsure how to answer the question. Which could only mean one thing in Ainsley’s mind. Her brother had gone and done something stupid.

“We’ve lost him.”

Ainsley blinked. “Excuse me? You... lost him?”

How was that even possible?

“We took him to x-ray but a situation occurred in the hallway with another patient. Your brother seemingly... disappeared as that was going on.”

_Of course, he did_ , Ainsley thought, sighing softly. Her brother was definitely one thing: _consistent_.

“Don’t worry,” she told the doctor. “I know where he is.”

Because the only person her brother would be concerned about was Gil.

Same as the only person Gil would be worried about was her brother.

“I should call mom on them both,” she huffed as she turned to stomp towards the elevator. 


	7. Skip

Time skipped by.

One year became two.

Two became twenty.

She watched her children go from childrento teenagers to adults.

Ainsley, bubbly and vibrant while Malcolm turned into a solemn and frequently sullen caricature of his former self. 

The cancer that was her ex-boyfriend infected her shyly exuberant son. Stole all of his joy, his ability to trust, and even his voice for a time.

Jessica tried, god knows she tried, but no amount of pills, doctors or trips to special hospitals seemed to restore her son to who he was before his father’s arrest.

She ached for when Malcolm was young and she could solve his problems with a kiss or a hug.

Skinned knees or elbows were something she could do something about.

How was she supposed to fix this?

She couldn’t.

Even stabbing Martin through the heart with the heel of her shoe wouldn’t return her son to normal.

But damn it’d feel good. 


	8. Party Tricks

Planning parties for Malcolm was never easy. Even before Martin’s arrest it had been difficult to figure out what exactly her son wanted.

The standard superheroes, space, Disney or car themes didn’t interest him.

Clowns horrified him.

Magicians? Forget it. 

It wasn’t that he was a difficult child.

Well, not then, anyway.

It was more his interests tended to run towards things that didn’t fit as a party theme.

After Martin’s arrest it didn’t matter. Parties became a thing of the past. For Malcolm, anyway. Sixteen, though, was a special point in a teenagers life. It was that midpoint between being a teenager and being an adult.

Jessica wanted to do something that would celebrate the day and the milestone that it marked. Finally, out of desperation, she turned to the one person who might have an idea about what to do that would celebrate this monumental event.

“I have a party trick up my sleeve that will work,” Gil assured her. “Let me take care of it.”

True to his word, Gil arrived early the following morning. Malcolm greeted him with his usual exuberance.

“Ready?” Gil asked him.

“Where are we going?”

“For a drive.” He tossed a set of keys to him. “And you’re driving.”

Malcolm’s eyes went round as saucers.

“You mean, you’re letting me drive the LeMans?”

“That’s right.”

Why she hadn’t thought of that, Jessica didn’t know.

Then again, this was something a father should do.

And Malcolm’s was rotting comfortably in a cell at Claremont. 


	9. Stranger Danger

Jessica taught her children about the dangers of strangers before they could walk or talk.

What she hadn’t known was that their own father was far more dangerous to them than a stranger.

A stranger was someone they could run away from.

How did they run away from their own father?

Martin put on his Father of the Year act for ten years.

And that was all it was, an act.

A stranger lived in her house, slept in her bed, kissed her children goodnight.

The entire time Martin pretended he was Cosby, he killed twenty-three people. Friends, associates, people who just happened to get his attention.

Martin was everything she taught their children to fear.

To avoid.

Their son did exactly what she taught him to do: he called the police.

He turned the stranger in.

So, why was Malcolm the one paying for his father’s sins?

That was the question she couldn’t answer. 


	10. Mass Hysteria

Announcing there was a bomb on the subway train that just pulled into the station wasn’t a great idea under any circumstances. People weren’t known to react calmly to such information. For good reason, JT thought as he pushed through the crowd.

How to avoid causing mass hysteria while getting all these people to exit the subway station?

That was anybody’s guess.

“I have an idea,” Bright announced to the shock of pretty much nobody.

“Oh, hell,” JT grumbled. “What crazy ass thing are you going to do?”

“Trust me,” a brilliant smile curved Bright’s lips, “this will work.”

“Yeah... I’m not worried.”

Bright hoped up on a bench and clapped his hands. “Ladies and gentlemen, I need your attention!”

Nobody so much as glanced at him. Not that JT could blame them. Bright looked like what he was: a guy in a fancy suit.

Only one way to do this, he realized as he cleared his throat.  


“Hey!” He barked. “Listen up!” People stopped to look at him, many with disgruntled expressions on their faces. Not that he cared. Bomb on subway took precedence over annoyance. “Folks, we have an important announcement for you.” He looked at Bright. “Right?”

“Yes, we do!” Bright nodded enthusiastically. “This station is being temporarily shutdown because of a problem on the track.” Groans and curses greeted that announcement. Not that Bright cared. He just pushed on. Like he always did. “Everyone needs to exit the subway and proceed to the next station.”

That was his great idea? Piss off people? Well, JT reasoned as people slowly turned to exit the station. He’s especially good at doing that.

And it did prevent a mass hysteria.

Thankfully. 


	11. Superglue

It was his own fault.

He should have made sure that he didn’t get any on his hands before he reached up to brush his hair out of his face.

Now his hair was stuck to his fingers.

Not a little stuck, either.

No, they were big time stuck.

As in harder he pulled the more it hurt.

“Something wrong, Bright?” Dani asked as she walked over to set a file on his desk.

“Ah, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” 

One brow quirked. “Try me.”

“I was supergluing a note onto the front of this folder and didn’t realize that I got superglue all over my hands.”

“And you ran your fingers through your hair.” Her lips trembled. “Right?”

“Yes.”

“Bit of a sticky situation you got yourself into.”

Malcolm rolled his eyes. “Will you just get the scissors, please?”

“Not until Gil and JT get a chance to see this.” 

Malcolm sighed and swore never to use superglue again.


	12. Footsteps

Malcolm crept forward one step at a time. The dimness of his loft didn’t bother him. He was used to creeping around in the dark. Usually because he couldn’t sleep and didn’t want to turn on any lights. This time, however, he was trying to sneak up on the intruder who broke in as he slept.

Faint chirping came from the sink.

There you are, he thought as he inched over. Knew you were here somewhere.

He reached for the coffee mug he left on the counter before taking himself to bed. It’d suffice as a carrier.

He inched over, hearing Sunshine tweet curiously, but not making any sort of sound that would give away his intentions. He spied it sitting near the drain and lunged, slamming the cup over the cricket.

“Gotcha!” He shouted triumphantly. 


	13. Chapter 13

The lies tripped off her tongue one after another. Each one an arrow in his already bleeding heart. He had known she was using him for information about her sister. He had known she was using him just to get near his father. He had known once she got what she wanted from him that she’d walk away without a backwards glance.

Yet, he dared to hope.

To believe.

Actually think that when she told him she had developed strong feelings for him that she meant it.

Fool he was, he allowed her in, and gave her the knife in which to carve out his heart.

He didn’t let her see him break.

He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

No, he waited until the door closed behind her forever before he swept everything off his desk. He sunk to his knees and let out a low, mournful howl as Sunshine, the only thing in his life who never lied to him or used him, tweetered and fluttered about in her cage. 


	14. Chapter 14

The call came over the radio. Body floating in the swimming pool at the high school. Any available units respond. Gil hesitated because he had Malcolm in the car with him. One of their “stakeouts” since the kid had gotten into it with some boys at his school. Jackie had gone to pick him up since he had been in court all afternoon and couldn’t get away. By the time he got home she’d gotten his bloody lip cleaned up and iced the eye almost swollen shut.

Rage swam through Gil seeing the myriad of other bruises the kid had acquired during the fight. He hated bullies. Always had. He’d have driven over to the houses of the kids involved if Jackie hadn’t set a hand on his arm and quietly told him Malcolm needed him more than he needed to get justice for him.

“Are we going to respond?” Came from the boy seated quietly beside him. Excitement churned on the face that turned up to his. “We’re the closest, aren’t we?”

Gil swallowed a sigh. Guess that answers my dilemma. He plastered a smile on his face as he reached for the radio.

“I’m going to respond,” he told him softly but firmly. “You’re just coming along for the ride.”

Because if he took the kid with him to investigate the actual scene he wouldn’t have to worry about losing his badge.

Jessica Whitly would be sure to skin him.

And if she didn’t?

Jackie sure as hell would.

They arrived at the location ten minutes later. Gil ordered Malcolm to remain in the car before stepping out. Something about this didn’t feel right. There was something... off about things. As Girl made his way towards the entrance, he spied the body floating in the pool. At least, it certainly looked like one. Soon as he reached the edge of the pool, though, he knew better.

“Dispatch,” he spoke into his shoulder radio. “Is this a hoax?”

“ Is what a hoax ?” Came the reply.

“Well, the dead body is a mannequin dressed in a speedo.” His eyes narrowed. “In a blonde wig.”

Soft laughter came from behind him. He turned to see Malcolm doubled over. The sound so surprised him he didn’t issue a reprimand for him having left the car.

Besides... it was sorta funny now that he thought about it. 


	15. Traditions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This ties into my other piece, Yesterday. It’s a sort-of prequel to it.

Gil’s world became a place of darkness and ice. Even Bright, the only child they had the pleasure of raising, wasn’t enough to bring a smile to his face. The beat in his heart, the song in his soul, the rhythm in his step died along with Jackie. He went through the motions of life because it’s what she’d want him to do.

Christmas came but he didn’t put up any decorations.

He didn’t bother with a tree.

What point was there in celebrating when the person he wanted to celebrate with was gone?

Never to sing another Christmas carol.

Never to burn any more Christmas cookies.

Never to sneak a present to the kid on Christmas Eve while he was at work.

There were no more traditions now. No reason to celebrate holidays or birthdays. The kid wanted to come home and celebrate but Gil told him to meet his mother and sister in Vail.

Maybe in time he’d want to celebrate Christmas again.

Maybe in time he’d want to celebrate their traditions again.

Maybe in time he’d want to live again.

For now? He just wanted the oblivion the bottom of his whiskey bottle promised him. 


	16. Quiver

Malcom’s flesh quivered as icy fingers slid beneath his collar and traced the back of his neck, his shoulders, the line of his back. He sucked in a breath as another arctic blast smacked him in the face. He pushed on, knowing that there was no getting out of this summons.

Not when he missed Christmas dinner, avoided New Years by claiming his injuries made celebrating uncomfortable, and skipped out on all other requests with excuses about cases keeping him busy.

If he skipped this dinner? He’d need to go into witness protection. Not that his mother wouldn’t manage to find him. He could travel halfway around the world, change his name, his look, and she’d still find him.

His voice buzzed as he reached the door of his mother’s house.

Oh, no, he thought as he fished his phone from his pocket. Please, don’t let it be Gil.

A glance at the phone revealed it wasn’t a message from Gil.

It was from JT.

Malcom’s eyebrows shot up but a glance at the message explained why.

[ _Need help, bro. Tally wants this crib put together and the instructions are only in French_ ]

A pleased smile curved Malcom’s lips as he sent a reply.

This was one reason to skip a dinner that even his mother couldn’t angry over.

Well, not much, anyway. 


	17. Loopy

Edrisa knocked the breath from him when she tackled him. For a moment he could only lay there, seeing stars, and her face in triplicate. To be expected after one had their head bounce off the floor. The loopy sensation didn’t stop him from hearing his father come through the phone he still clutched in one hand.

“I’ll have to call you back,” he muttered as he lifted the phone close enough to speak into it. He disconnected the call as Gil and the others rushed over to make sure they were alright. “We’re fine. We’re fine.”

Well, his head swam as he sat up but he chose not to tell them that. The situation was embarrassing enough as it was.

“Oh, my God, I am so sorry,” Edrisa stammered as she scrambled to her feet. “I just saw the cork about to pop and...”

“You did the right thing,” he assured her. “Thank you.”

“Damn,” JT grumbled as he walked over to where the cork found purchase in a bottle. “Thought I was gonna get to tell everyone that Bright got corked.”

“Really?” Came from Dani. “That’s the best you could come up with?”

“Hey, I came up with it on the fly.” 


	18. Crash

One minute they were parked at the light. The next, Malcolm found himself looking up at a whole bunch of people. Making out faces was difficult when they swam in and out of focus. Shouts rang out but he couldn’t identify anything being said to him thanks to the ringing in his ears.

What happened?

He had no idea.

He turned his head to try and figure out why he was laying on the sidewalk and saw the rental Gil picked up that morning sitting a few feet away with the front end caved in.

That doesn’t look... right. A frown furrowed his brow. Had they hit something? No. They’d been stopped. So, what happened? Blinking helped clear away the fog trying to fill his mind. A car hit them. Came from across the intersection. Yet when he looked again, he didn’t see another car.

Had they gotten away?

Impossible.

The amount of damage done to Gil’s rental suggested that the other car suffered equally.

There was no car, though.

It was as if it vanished without a trace.

“Bright!” He heard Gil through the cacophony of sound. “Bright! Are you okay?”

“S’far,” he managed. “Don’t think the car’s gonna make it, though.”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t land on it this time.”

“Hurt less.”

“That’s because your adrenaline was pumping and blocked out the pain.”

“Can I have some of that?” 

Gil leaned over, face bloody, but looking otherwise unharmed. “You’ll get some pain killers at the hospital.”

“Don’t wanna go to the hospital.”

“Tough,” was Gil’s reply as they loaded him into an ambulance. 


	19. That’s Going To Bruise

“That’s gonna bruise.”

JT squinted at Bright, not amused by his cheerful tone or having pointed out the obvious.

“It wouldn’t bruise if you would have sized up the dude you were trash talking before you started trash talking.”

“We found out he’s not our killer, though.”

“Him punching me in the face proves he’s not our killer?” JT lowered the hand he had been using to check his nose to give Bright his full attention. “Oh, this I gotta hear.”

“Marcus Shelby can’t be our killer because our killer is left handed.“

“Bro, people can hit with either hand. It ain’t one hand dependent.”

“Yes, but not if they have broken fingers.” A triumphant look crossed Bright’s face. “Our killer broke his hand three weeks ago. It ideally would still be in a cast.”

JT’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. 

“You trash talked this dude despite knowing he didn’t have no cast on?”

“Ah, well, I couldn’t be sure that he hadn’t cut the cast off. People have done stranger things.”

“Coming from you? That’s saying a lot.”

“I’m not strange.”

“Bro, you are the poster child for strange.” He indicated the car. “Get your strange ass in the car so we can head back to the precinct. And don’t you dare tell Dani about what happened.” 

“Scouts honor.”

“Yeah, right,” JT grumbled as he walked around to the drivers side. “Scouts honor my ass.” 


	20. Zip-ties

He hadn’t expected her to suggest this as a dare.

He really hadn’t.

When he agreed to play truth or dare with Ainsley, he figured it would be tame stuff. Dare him to hide all the alcohol from their mother. Confess something he’d done in college she didn’t know about.

Simple stuff.

Boring stuff.

Daring him to let her zip-tie him to the railing outside the house?

Nope, hadn’t expected that one.

Try as he could he couldn’t get the ties to break.

They simply refused to so much as budge.

Twenty minutes of trying left him frustrated and dripping with sweat despite the coolness of the evening.

“Is this why Batman uses these over handcuffs?” He grumbled as he rest his forehead against the wrought iron. “Because nobody can get out of them?”

He had a feeling that was the reason.

And exactly why Ainsley picked this as her dare.

He couldn’t get out of them. Which meant he couldn’t avoid their mother when she got back from shopping. Malcolm sighed as he waited for her to come home.

And he plotted as he waited. 


	21. Pin

The silence threatened to overwhelm him.

He didn’t like it.

It wasn’t natural.

Precincts were never silent. Not in the middle of the day, anyway.

The only time they were was when something bad was happening.

Bad as in a suspect had taken one of them hostage.

A pin hit the table in the conference room, the sound like canon fire. Malcolm flinched and put his hands over his ears. Childish, he knew. Right now, a child is what he felt like.

His father stood on the other side of the conference room glass with a gun to the back of Gil’s head. His expression spoke of a reasonable calm but Malcolm could see beyond it.

Controlled chaos.

That was his father.

He never did anything that he hadn’t thought all the way through.

And this?

He’d been thinking about this for the last twenty-plus years.

“Malcolm, my boy,” he said in his normal, affable voice. “Why don’t you come join us?”

“Aw, hell no,” JT muttered beside him. “You keep your skinny ass right where it is.”

“I have too,” he said quietly. “It’s Gil.”

Which is exactly what his father had counted on when he kidnapped him. Resigned to whatever was about to happen, determined no harm would come to Gil or anyone else, Malcolm entered the conference room. 


	22. Tinker

“I am not going to the party dressed like this!”

“But you gotta!”

“No, Ainse!” Malcolm folded his arms across his chest and set his jaw. “I get teased enough as it is.”

“But you gotta!” His sister insisted. “I can’t go in my costume if you don’t go in yours!”

Malcolm prayed for Gil to arrive and save him from this ridiculous argument with his sister. He was supposed to have come to pick him up a half hour ago. Malcolm had no clue what could be detaining him. Probably work, he decided.

“No, Ainsley,” he repeated, tone firm. “I’m not wearing that costume and that’s final.”

“How can I go dressed as Peter Pan if you don’t go as Tinker Bell?”

“I don’t know.”

And he didn’t care.

He wasn’t going to a Halloween party dressed as no fairy and that was final. Thankfully, he heard a knock at the door.

“Malcolm...” Ainsley whined.

“Gil’s here,” he said as he ran from the room. “See you tomorrow!” 

Or Monday if he could convince Gil to let him stay the weekend with him and Jackie. He’d promise to eat all his meals, go to see Gabrielle, and sleep.

Anything to avoid dressing up as Tinker Bell. 


	23. Quench

“Edrisa, talk to us,” Gil commanded as they entered the pool area.

“Well, from what I can tell, it seems like our victim jumped into the pool.”

“It’s covered,” JT pointed out. “Wouldn’t someone uncover it before they decided to take a swim?”

“Well, I don’t think our victim was thinking about a swim,” the medical examiner said, smiling at Bright as he moved closer to inspect the body. “I think he needed to cool his body down and fast so he just... jumped in.”

“Explains why he didn’t take off his clothes.”

“He had no time to remove his clothes,” she said. “He needed to quench the fire before he literally combusted.”

“So, what,” JT said. “The guy was the Human Torch or something?”

“I won’t know until I open him up but I suspect he may have had an autoimmune disease or a vitamin deficiency.”

“Or he was injected with something that caused him to think he was on fire.”

Edrisa’s gaze met Bright’s.

“I told you this would be a fascinating case.”

“That you did.” A brief smile touched his lips. “Now, we just have to figure out what happened.”

“And why,” Gil said with a sigh. 


	24. Just Stay Put!

“Just stay put!”

“But, Gil...”

“Bright, just stay put.”

Bright heaved a disgruntled sigh but finally consented.

“Fine. I’ll stay put.” He sent Gil a long look from beneath lowered lashes. “For now.”

With Bright, it was the best he was gonna get. Gil turned to head down a long, dark corridor. Every sense was on high alert. Their suspect had run in here just seconds ahead of them. He could be waiting around any number of corners or behind any number of doors.

A sound came from up ahead.

A pipe banging on concrete.

Gil slowly circled around, eyes sweeping left and right, expecting anything and everything.

Well, not everything.

He wasn’t expecting the big orange tom that came out screeching from behind some boxes.

He jumped back with a muffled curse. He barely dodged the pipe that came at his head. There was a clang! and the man dropped to his knees. Gil looked over to see Bright standing behind their suspect, a frying pan in his hand and a big grin on his face.

“I told you to stay put,” he said as he walked over to cuff their suspect.

“Is that how you say thank you for saving you from a pipe to the head?”

“No, that’s me telling you we need to work on you following orders.” He hauled the man up. “Let’s go.” 


	25. Abandoned

Mal calling to say he needed a favor wasn’t unusual. He tended to call and ask her for favors all the time. Friends did things for each other, after all.

Of course, those favors usually included things like picking up his dry cleaning, getting something from his loft he needed or checking on Sunshine because he couldn’t get away.

This?

This went way beyond anything he ever asked her before.

“Could you repeat that?”

“Ah, I said a baby was abandoned here at the precinct and I was thinking — hoping, really, that you’d agree to take care of him while we try to find his family.”

Sorcha pulled her phone away from her ear and checked to make sure she was taking to Malcolm Bright. Yep, she was.

“You have a baby with you? Right now?”

“Well, Gil has him.”

“Why doesn’t he take the baby home? Or JT? He and Tally have a nursery already setup.”

“Ah, well...”

”Mal?”

“It seems the baby, uh, likes me the best.”

A brow quirked. “Oh?”

“He tends to scream whenever anyone but me holds him.”

“And you have a feeling that he will like me over Dani, JT and Gil?”

“Ah, I’m hoping because otherwise we have to take him with us to a crime scene.”

“Last place a baby needs to go.”

“That’s what Gil said when I suggested it.” Loud screaming came through the speaker. “I, uh, better get back in there and quiet him. You’re coming down, right?”

“You knew I would when you called.” Sorcha heaved a weary sigh. “The things I do for your dumbass...” 


	26. Uncontrollable

Dealing with someone as manic as Malcolm Bright wasn’t easy. The kid tended to idle between controlled chaos on a good day and uncontrollable madness on a bad one.

Today seemed to be a sort of mixture between the two.

An uncontrollably controlled Bright took more patience than he, Dani and JT had.

They got through the crime scene without more than a few heated threats and black looks. Of course, having a body to occupy his mind helped to shift him into a more manageable Bright.

After they returned to the precinct, he went and got a cup of coffee from the Starbucks nearby.

Whatever they put in his Americano had the kid bouncing off the walls.

Literally.

By ten, Dani threatened to tie him to a chair.

Eleven, JT swore he’d handcuff him to it.

At noon, Gil called Jessica and asked her to come get him.

“Why?”

“Because Bright is currently playing Twister, by himself, in my office.”

He didn’t have to say anything else.


	27. Muzzle

JT saw the flash from the muzzle a second before the bullet struck the window right above Bright’s head.

“Get down!” He shouted at the startled profiler.

Another flash and the vase next to him exploded into a thousand pieces. Glass shards, water, and what remained of the roses spewed everywhere.

“Mabel,” Bright called out as he dropped down next to JT. “Why don’t you put down the gun and talk to us?”

“You want to take Eddie from me!”

Another round found purchase in the television. Another in the wall above their heads.

“She can’t hit the broadside of a barn,” JT muttered as another bullet lodged in the plush armchair by the fireplace. He slanted a look at Bright. “How many rounds you think she has left?”

“Ah, well, typically that gun has seven rounds.”

“So, two left?”

“If we’re lucky.” 

“Yeah, if I had any luck at all we wouldn’t be here and getting shot at by Unstable Mabel here.”

“Could be worse,” Bright said as another round shot out the glass of the ceiling light. “She could have a gun with a larger carrying capacity.”

A grunt was followed by Mabel crying, “Eddie!”

“Ah, hell,” JT grumbled as he reached for his walkie. “She shot his ass.”

“Accidentally,” Bright said as he leaned out of cover. “She was aiming for us.”

“Remind me to muzzle you next time we are being shot at.”

“Gag ball works better.”

“Not even gonna ask how you know that.” 


	28. Vice

Malcolm couldn’t deny he loved red licorice sticks.

Why exactly he liked them so much, he didn’t know.

He couldn’t remember when it started. After his father’s arrest seemed most likely. Mother never allowed such sweetsbefore then.

Twizzlers became a staple of his diet while he was at Harvard. Easy to grab, simple to carry, and comforting on those long nights of marathon studying.

He hadn’t known that red licorice could end up getting him arrested. Not until he found himself swept up as part of a sting operation and charged with possession and intent to distribute.

“It’s red licorice!” he protested as he was loaded into the police van. “Not narcotics!”

Not that vice seemed to care. Luckily, Gil managed to get the charges dropped after talking to their captain.

“Seriously, Bright?” he asked once Malcolm was let go. “Arrested in a vice sting?”

“I was buying licorice at the corner market!”

“Might want to give it up, kid.”

Malcolm just huffed and climbed into his car. 


	29. Xenophobia

Six victims.

All from different countries.

All a different ethnicity.

Different socioeconomic backgrounds.

In the United States for different reasons.

Three women, three men, different ages. 

“Well?” Gil lowered himself into a chair as Malcolm continued staring at the facts he had written on the white board. “What do you see?”

“Our killer is picking victims who are not originally from the United States.” A frown creased his brow. “It suggests a dislike or prejudice against foreigners.”

“A xenophobic killer,” JT grumbled from his seat. “Go figure.”

“This killer knows the victims, though. He picks them because he knows they are not from here.”

“An Uber or Lyft driver would be able to get that sort of information.” Dani sat forward, hands braced on her knees. “People wouldn’t think twice about telling their driver where they’re from. Especially if this is their first time in the city and they want to know what sights to visit or some place to get a quick bite to eat.”

“Track down if our victims used Lyft or Uber after landing,” Gil told her. “Bright, you and I will go talk with the friends of the last victim. See if they talked with anyone that seemed especially upset with them visiting New York.”

“It’s New York,” JT said as he headed for the door. “Someone’s always pissed at someone. Ask Bright. He pisses someone off once a day.”

“I keep telling you that lady at the coffee shop overreacted to my comment.”

“Bro, you told her that her dog was ugly.” 

“Well, it was.”

“Focus,” Gil said. “We need to catch this guy and before he strikes again.”


	30. Quaint

The house was quaint. Charming, even. Nobody would know from the outside that a grisly murder had occurred here just a little over twelve hours ago.

Soon as Malcolm entered the small entryway he immediately detected a coppery scent. His nose wrinkled and his stomach churned. A relatively normal reaction.

Well, for him, anyway.

A look into the first room he passed revealed nothing but sun-dappled walls and simple, but tasteful furniture. A sitting room, he decided as he continued on down the hall.

The next room he passed was a small kitchen. Nothing unusual there.

Unless one counted the bloody handprints all over the kitchen cabinets.

The attack started here, he mused as he followed the handprints. The victim was at the sink when they were attacked.

His eyes searched and found a blood trail leading from the kitchen. He followed and found himself in a small dining room. Blood dotted the simple lace tablecloth. Likely as the victim raced around it to try and escape their assailant.

“Bright.”

Malcolm turned to see Gil standing in the doorway.

“The victim is in the bedroom.”

“I’ll be there in a minute.” He turned back to look at the table. “Do we have a suspect?”

“One.” His grim tone caused Malcolm to turn back. “His ten-year-old son.”

Malcolm felt the blood drain from his face.

A son killing his father.

His serial killer father. 


	31. X’s and O’s

He sat back to admire his work.

Twenty perfect X’s to close the hole he created when he cut into that honey gold flesh.

Twenty X’s that formed a perfect O.

Hugs and kisses.

His signature.

An artist had to autograph his work, after all.

And he signed his with love.

Why else did they call him the XOXO killer?

Soon, he promised as he cleaned his hands on a rag.

Soon, he’d create his greatest masterpiece.

A testament of his love for the man who inspired him to become an artist.

And what better canvas was there than his own son? 


	32. “It’s Not My Blood!”

The first words out of the kid’s mouth were, “It’s not my blood!”

“The better answer would have been to explain whose blood it is,” Gil said, tone wry.

“I don’t know,” Bright admitted, smile inching towards sheepish. “I was walking and suddenly just...” he waved at himself, “covered in it.”

As far as Bright-explanations went, this wasn’t even the weirdest one. Gil just shook his head as he crouched down beside the kid.

“So, there’s a chance it isn’t blood?”

“Oh, it’s blood all right.” 

Gil had a feeling it would be. “Right. Looks like you’re evidence now, kid.”

“What?” Dismay flittered across Bright’s face. “No, I want to work the case. Gil, there’s someone this blood belongs too.”

“Right.” He indicated the crime scene guys standing a few feet away. “That’s why you’re going with them. So they can collect the only evidence we have to work this case.”

The kid wasn’t happy but he went.

Not that he had a choice. 


	33. Rictus

Mangled lips twisted into a rictus of revulsion.

Almost a snarl.

Almost a smile.

Verdant eyes gleamed at him from a bone-white face.

Mercurial, methodical, Machiavellian, Malcolm realized.

Not a move wasted, every outcome carefully planned for, completely uncaring of the people hurt.

However, no hint of madness lurked in those eyes.

Nothing in his bearing fit the criteria for the criminally insane.

This man, whoever he was, could not be diagnosed using normal criteria.

He defied those principles.

And he knows it, he realized as the man let out a long, low chuckle.

He revels in his unpredictability.

In the certainty he creates.

An agent of chaos.

“So, tell me,” the man said as he leaned forward, “have you figured me out, yet?”

Oh, Malcolm had.

This man would make even his father nervous.

Because this wasn’t a man that Martin Whitly could control.

No, this man would make him his puppet and would laugh as he manipulated the strings.

“Bright,” Gil said. “Let’s go.”

For once, Malcolm obeyed without a word of protest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you squint on the Rictus chapter you might see a play on the Joker ;)


	34. “Don’t Look Down!”

Why anyone thought shouting, “Don’t look down!” was supposed to stop someone from looking down was beyond Malcolm.

The second Dani called out to him, he did the exact opposite of what she warned him not to do: he looked down.

Right into a pool of sharp-teethed piranha.

A high pitched cackle sounded over the speaker system.

“Oops! Looks like the pretty boy didn’t—!”

The last broke off in a gurgle. Malcolm shot a look at the window — bad guy window, he totally called it — and saw JT had the man in the purple merino suit and white dress shirt up against the wall.

Malcolm hoped he slammed him against it before cuffing him.

“Bright,” Dani said, a thin note of worry in her voice. “Give me your hand. I’m going to pull you back up.” 

Given the alternative was to be eaten by the obviously hungry creatures below?

He did as she asked.

“You good?”

“Yeah.” He blew out a breath as he slowly sat up. “But next time? Don’t tell me to not look down. It doesn’t work. Quite the opposite, actually.”

“I’ll remember that for next time you’re dangling over a pool of piranha.”

“Appreciate it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This goes with Rictus ;)


	35. Faith

Sorcha decided he needed to have some fun. Or so she told him, a grin tugging at her lips. Malcolm had given in, inspired by her whimsical mood, the bounce to her step, the gleam in her dark, dark eyes.

Holding her hand, he let her lead him out onto the dance floor to join with the other couples already moving in time to the music.

“You ever done this before?” he had to shout over the music.

“Nope!” She tossed her head back, laughed. “That’s what makes this so much fun!”

“Won’t be if I step on your toes!”

“Have faith, Mal!” She linked her arms around his neck. “I do!”

He hoped she had enough for the both of them. 


	36. Z Prompts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1) Zoometry (branch of zoology concerned with the relative size or length of the different parts of an animal or animals)
> 
> 2) Zombies ( 🧟♂️)
> 
> 3) Zingiest (pleasantly stimulating)
> 
> 4) Zephyr (soft breeze; or, a light article of clothing)
> 
> 5) Zigzag

“Zoometry,” Bright announced as he zigzagged between the yellow tape. “It’s a branch of zoology that...”

“Don’t care, bro,” JT said as he followed behind him. “Too early in the morning and I haven’t had any coffee.”

“You know why people are addicted to coffee?” Bright spun around, a wide grin on his face. “It’s because of the zingiest feeling they get from the caffeine.”

“That why you always look like a damn zombie?”

“Sleep issues.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” JT looked up at the sign hanging above the door. “The Zephyr? Seriously?”

“I read a review that said you’d leave here feeling as if you were floating on a soft breeze.”

“Uh-huh, I bet,” JT said as he nudged Bright inside. “Don’t touch anything. Don’t taste anything. You high as a kite once was enough for me.” 


	37. Rescue

“Won’t you pleaaaaase come to my rescue,” she heard from the other side of the door. “Take this...” a hiccup swallowed the next word. 

As did a giggle.

A very drunken sounding one.

“Mal...” She rapped at the door with her knuckles. “Open the door.”

“Can’t,” he slurred. “Locked.”

No, shit, Sherlock, Sorcha thought, huffing softly.

“Can you unlock it?”

“Nope!” Another giggle. “Broken.”

Sorcha decided that drunk Malcolm was just not on the list of problems she wanted to solve tonight.

She certainly hadn’t been the one to take the dumbass out drinking.

Turning from the locked door, she stalked over to the counter to get her phone. Sunshine chirped from the sink as she unlocked the phone and dialed a number. 

“Don’t worry, Sunshine, I’m calling someone to come get our dumbass out of the bathroom he somehow managed to lock himself in.”

The little budgie twittered once before resuming her bath.

Malcolm doing something stupid wasn’t unusual to her or Sunshine.

Doing it while singing Uncle Kracker? 

That was new.

“Gil?” She said when the lieutenant picked up. “Need you to come rescue your dumbass son. He’s locked himself in the bathroom.” Sunshine chirped. “Oh, yeah, and he’s drunk.” 


	38. Zero

The first thing Gil zeroed in on after he arrived at the kid’s loft was Sorcha seated in the middle of Bright’s bed while he was... singing.

From behind the locked bathroom door.

The words were decidedly slurred and frequently ended with giggles and hiccups. Gil sighed as he walked over to the door.

“How drunk was he when you got here?”

“You mean how drunk was he when I found him face first in the inner stairwell?” A small smile curved Sorcha’s lips. “Let’s just say he smelled like a brewery and leave it at that.”

Gil ran a hand over his face. “I warned JT not to let him drink too much.”

“Yeah... don’t think Malcolm got that memo,” she said as she set her iPad aside and got to her feet. “He apparently decided to stop off at the bar down the street for a nightcap.”

“He’s going to be hungover tomorrow.”

“Oh, I hope he is,” she said as Sunshine landed on her shoulder. “I’ve already worked out how to make him regret his overindulgence.”

“I thought you cared for him?”

“Hey, he got drunk and locked himself in a bathroom. He earned this.”

A grin tugged at Gil’s lips as Bright launched into a rendition of I Can’t Help Falling In Love.

“Let’s get him out of there before he starts singing that Aqua song.”

“He’s done that twice now.”

“Hence the payback.”

“Absolutely.” 


	39. Roped

JT slunk lower in his seat and gazed about the crowded bar. How he got himself roped into a boys night out with Captain Dangerous was beyond him. He’d suggested getting drinks to Dani and Gil with the intent of them all coming.

“Got thrown to the damn wolves is what I got,” he muttered as he hooked his almost empty bottle of beer with one hand and lifted it.

Bright came back from his phone call, a bundle of energy despite the fact none of them had gotten more than an hours worth of sleep since the Xenophobic Killer came on the scene. Sometimes JT was envious of his skinny ass’s ability to go days without sleep and still function.

Other times he wanted to handcuff the guy to a chair to keep him still.

“Your girl?”

“Who is still mad at me.”

“Yeah, I’d be mad at you, too, bro.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Bright protested. “I had to infiltrate the group somehow.”

“You almost got your ass killed.” JT slanted a look at him. “Again.” 

“It’s part of the job.”

“Was yeeting out a window onto Gil’s car also part of the job?”

Bright grimaced as he reached for his drink.

“That was an unfortunate byproduct to a plan that was going to end badly no matter what.”

“And you wonder why your girl is mad at you.” JT shook his head. “Man, Tally would have killed my ass if I did half the stuff you have.”

“You eat the pizza rolls again and she might.”

JT grunted as he signaled to the bartender for two more. “That’s why I bought another freezer and loaded it with ice cream and pizza rolls.”

“Smart.”

“Damn right.” 


	40. Malignant

Martin Whitly was a malignant cancer.

A tumor that needed excising. 

For twenty years he allowed the man to thrive in his plush cell, content that his secret was safe.

Then that foolish woman, Eve, showed up and started asking questions.

Instead of lying, as serial killers so often did, Martin Whitly told the truth.

He told them he allowed Sophie to live.

Well, that just wouldn’t do.

The Surgeon needed to learn that he couldn’t go back on his word.

Killing the boy, Malcolm, was not an option. He had plans for him. Why else had he used his contacts at the DOJ to get him fired from the FBI? Got him clearance to work with the NYPD as a consultant?

No, the one who needed to go was Martin Whitly.

It’d served two purposes:

One, it kept the subject of Sophie quiet.

And two?

It’d break Malcolm apart completely.

John was supposed to have broken Malcolm when he kidnapped him. Had he not chosen to play around for as long as he had, Malcolm would now be on his way to becoming what he desired him: the perfect killer.

Killing his father would solve both of his problems.

He just needed to eliminate the guard, Mr. David.

Well, a little something in his morning coffee would certainly solve that dilemma.

A smile creased his lips as he sat back in his chair and watched the sun slowly set. 


	41. Chapter 41

For once, Malcolm didn’t have to beg Gil to let him come with him to a crime scene. Gil actually asked him to come with him, said he needed someone with his abilities to look at his crime scene and tell him what really happened. 

“Overkill,” was the first word that popped out of his mouth after they arrived. “Things went wrong, fast. They had to compensate. Cover up whatever was really going on here.” 

“We suspect it was a meth lab.” 

Malcolm looked around. “Possible.” 

“But you don’t think so.” 

“I think they want you to think that this was a meth lab so you will close the case on it.”

Malcolm crept closer, mindful of the glass, soggy carpet, and other debris. The abrasive smell of charred flesh assaulted him, mixed with the acrid stench of burned wood and blood. His stomach twisted but he bore down, swallowed back the bile that wanted to burst from his mouth. He was a trained FBI agent. 

He had seen worse scenes than this. 

Worked worse scenes than this. 

Still, nothing prepared him for the sight of the three small bodies laid out behind the couch. 

There was no amount of training in the world that could ever fully prepare anyone in law enforcement for how to deal with crimes against children. 

Especially ones like this.


	42. The Ace Of Knaves

“It’s truly a shame that our time together has to come to an end,” the man with the bone-white face purred. “I so have enjoyed our time together.” Mangled lips peeled back in a smile that left Malcolm cold. “Things to do, people to kill, Bats to annoy, though. You understand how it is.”

Yes, Malcolm understood he was being used here for the selfish purposes of a madman. Something he didn’t stop himself from saying out loud. 

“You’re using me to lure Batman into another of your twisted games.” 

A soft giggle sounded above the snapping of the teeth in the pool just a few feet beneath him. Teeth that would rip him into shreds soon as he was lowered into their waters. Death by Piranha wasn’t how Malcolm anticipated he’d die. Accidental overdose, run over by a train, blown up by a bomb, shot by an armed assailant all ranked higher than this. 

He only had himself to blame for his predicament, however. Had he listened to Gil, for once, and waited for backup, he wouldn’t have found himself captured by a man with the moniker of the Joker. 

The Clown Prince of Crime. 

The Ace of Knaves. 

The Jester of Genocide. 

A man who even his own father warned him to stay away from. 

Had Malcolm listened? 

No. 

And now he was about to become piranha chow. 

All because Batman hadn’t paid the Joker the proper amount of attention. 

“Toodles, kiddo.” The Joker wiggled his fingers at him in a mock goodbye. “It has been fun. I’ll give the little princess your regards when I see her.” 

Helpless fury filled Malcolm but it wasn’t like he could do anything. Well, beyond brace himself for death. He watched the Joker reach for the lever that would drop him into that death-infested waters. Every second was sheer agony. The only good thing to come from this situation was that his tremors had stopped. 

Impending death being the only thing strong enough to stop them. 

The Joker’s high-pitched laughter echoed throughout the warehouse a second before Malcolm started to plummet towards the gaping maws waiting below.


	43. Silent Guardians

His descent abruptly stopped. 

How, why, he didn’t know. 

Didn’t rightly care, either. 

All Malcolm knew was that he was no longer aiming towards a pool full of gaping maws with razor-sharp teeth. 

He let out the breath he had been holding and darted a look over to where the Joker had been standing only to find the giggling man being held over the side of the railing by a man covered head to foot in unrelieved black. A cowl concealed the majority of his face from view. He didn’t need to see the emblem on his chest to know who he was. 

Batman. 

He was here. 

He saved him. 

“Party-pooper,” the Joker choked out. “Always showing up and spoiling my fun.” 

“Quiet,” Batman growled. 

Literally, growled. Malcolm found himself impressed despite his still precarious circumstances. 

“Just stay calm,” he heard from above him. “We’ll have you out of there in a second.” 

A look up revealed another hero, this one in blue-and-black and with a thin black domino concealing his features. Malcolm flipped through his rolodex in search of a name. Not Robin. Not Red Robin. Definitely not Red Hood.

Nightwing! 

The name flashed into his mind as he was lifted out of the piranha pit.

He was Nightwing. 

And he couldn’t be happier to see him.


	44. Zoinks, X marks the spot

Malcolm only ever heard the phrase “X marks the spot,” when his father told him tales about pirates searching for buried treasure. He never imagined it’d apply to a burial ground in the middle of nowhere. 

The first bones dug up were questionable. Could be human, could be remains from animals. Wouldn’t know until they were taken back to a lab and examined. 

The second set were decidedly human but much like before would need to go back to the lab for examination before an exact age could be given to them. 

“Zoinks!” Burst from the mouth of a new crime scene investigator. “Over here! I found something!” 

Malcolm quickly walked over, curiosity piqued despite the possibility of what the guy had found. His belly cramped as he took in the empty eye sockets, the grayish skin mottled with bruises, the gaping mouth, the clump of hair matted with dirt and blood.

It was his first official case for the bureau and it just turned into a doozy. 

Part of him was excited. 

The other part? 

Wanted to throw up what few contents were in his stomach. 

He stiffened his resolve and crouched so he could examine the head more properly. Every detail mattered. Even the most minute thing would help in his building of a profile. 

“Zoinks?” he said to the investigator with a small smile. “Is that an official word?’ 

“Well, jinkies, I didn’t want to say anything inappropriate.” 

Malcolm couldn’t argue with that.


	45. You Just Don’t Shut Up, Do You?

“You just won’t shut up, will you?” 

Anyone who knew Bright knew the guy couldn’t keep his mouth shut to save his life. It was the one thing about him that continued to irk JT. Well, that, and his propensity to run headlong into danger. 

“Look, the guy is obnoxious.” He heard Bright’s harrumph but ignored him. “He’s asking a valid question, though. Where were you?” 

“I was in Florida.” 

JT ordered himself to keep a straight face. Man, it was difficult, though. Especially since the guy he equated with being the state of Florida currently was bouncing in the chair beside him. 

“You got proof of that?” 

“I have my airline ticket.” 

JT nodded and closed the file he’d brought in with him. “Alright, provided your proof checks out, you’re free to go.”

Bright made to protest but JT sent him the look he’d seen Gil give to get him to button his yap. He did but his expression said he wasn’t happy about it. 

Not that JT cared. 

Whenever he could get Bright to stay quiet was a blessing. 

To him and everyone else.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, all! These are pieces written based on word prompts given out on the Prodigal Son Discord Server. No plots in mind just a lot of fun and whump. Some fluff. And Sunshine. We must have Sunshine.


End file.
